A barefoot boy I went to school To save a cobbler's fee,
For though the porridge pot was full A frugal folk were we;
We baked our bannocks, spun our wool, And counted each bawbee.
We reft our living from the soil, And I was shieling bred;
My father's hands were warped with toil, And crooked with grace he said.
My mother made the kettle boil As spinning wheel she fed.
My granny smoked a pipe of clay, And yammered of her youth;
The hairs upon her chin were grey, She had a single tooth;
Her mutch was grimed,
I grieve to say, For I would speak the truth.
You of your ancestry may boast,— Well, here I brag of mine;
For if there is a heaven host I hope they'll be in line:
My dad with collie at his heel In plaid of tartan stripe;
My mammie with her spinning wheel, My granny with her pipe.
